Writing isn’t easy (but nobody ever said it was). It’s a process that’s overshadowed much of my life; stretching back to the time of my parent’s separation. Guess you could say that my childhood was a lonely one, and my imagination proved to be the only form of escape from such an empty existence.
Anybody who's ever read the college magazine "Wanted" will know how poor the majority of the articles are. I've wanted (no pun intended) to write an article for it for so long now, in an attempt to make the content ten times better, and something the college could be proud of.
As a child, picking up my pen gave me so much strength; it gave me fulfillment and some form of purpose – in a life devoid of any such significance. Writing gave me a reason to wake up in the morning, and if nothing else it proved to be my one true sport – a game which needed nobody, except the one person I trusted most of all, to play: myself.
The thing is though, with coursework and exams (and other silly things like that) time is a rarity with me right now. I have little time as it is to sit down and watch an hour's television every night, or keep up with this blog - and the many others that I write! It was just a matter of finding the time to put the magazine article together. And when a little free time became available, I jumped upon the window of opportunity!
Over the year’s I’ve grown, outwardly and inwardly – physically and mentally. I’ve reached a level of maturity that I never expected to ever reach. And my writing’s matured also. The characters I write today are no longer just bland cutouts of real life, but complex (and often angst driven) individuals in their own right. Jointly, my plots are much more than just muddled beginnings, middles and ends now. The stories grow in complexity, to such an extent that I surprise even myself.
The magazine article "Life With Chameleons" continues a theme I started to explore with my "Self" script - what does it mean to be a writer? At this early stage in my writing career, it's something I should be starting to understand, because to understand one's self and why you do the things that you do is halfway to understanding the rest of the world.
That doesn’t mean I’m at all satisfied with my writing. As a writer, more than anybody else I can see my flaws; the dangerous patterns that mar my writing, like dialogue or other such petty creations. There’s still the odd thing in need of a tweak, but there always will be – because as a writer, nothing’s ever perfect. Just like the world around us.
"Life With Chameleons" was a very public show of why it is that I write, and was written solely because - in my opinion - "Self" was a little bit of a failure. That particular film could have been so much more but I failed in myself, as a writer, to make it true to myself and truly engaging.
The 21st century is such an important time to be writing, for we live in a divided world; a world of terror and harsh truths; a world where conglomerates control what we see (or hear) from our media on a daily basis; and a global superpower struggles to become ‘absolute’. This world’s a nasty place, and something needs to change – and urgently.
Writing is a funny old thing, and I feel as though I'm only now starting to get the hang of it (but I know I never will 'handle' it completely) I'm a perfectionist in whatever I write, which I guess is the best way to be. It can cause a problem though with deadlines and such - as I don't finish on time, detirmined to perfect my writing before I send it off for audience's to analyse.
It takes just one person to see the world for what it is, and to take action, by opening the world’s eyes to the troubles around it. To bring truth – this is the role of a writer.
I don't know what provoked me to write in such a public manner. It's a funny thing, but as a writer I feel like the work I write is always on public show, and I have a responciblity to continue to write and give audiences texts to read. Because that's what people have come to expect from me, and I can't let them down.
Everyday I write for that reason; in a desperate bid to actually change something, and for the better. It’s why I’m willing to become a slave to my pen and sit for hours just staring at a blank piece of paper. It’s an uphill struggle finding the right words to say, but I’ll never give up – because the end product might just be worthwhile; might actually mean something. Or it might not, but that’s a risk I must take, in my quest for change.
Hopefully readers will respond well to the article. It's on sale right now (or should be, if the printers haven't broken!) for the reasonable sum of £1. I'll buy it the second it comes out, just so I can look at my work in the flesh - or more amptly, in the print. I've been printed! How exciting is that? Still, no time to sit on my laurels. There's work to be done elsewhere - the curse of the writer. It's time I move on and complete "Cigarettes and Paranoia". And I strive to make it better than anything that's so far gone before it.
Writing isn’t easy (but nobody ever said it was).